


Eternal Chaotic Inflation and the Multiverse Theory

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Barebacking, Gender Issues, M/M, Mentions of Dean/OFC, Pining Sam, Porn Watching, Rimming, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants the sweetheart stuff.</p><p>(Sam is 14)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternal Chaotic Inflation and the Multiverse Theory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homo_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/gifts).



> The goddess of pink things homo-pink spoon-fed me this little idea on tumblr months ago. Consider it a belated little birthday present, darling.

 

Dean’s got a new tape.

He parks it on the table next to the heap of his uniform and his keys.  Dean’s wearing that easy smile he gets about 36 hours after Dad takes off – long enough to know he’s not coming back soon, soon enough that they’re still flush with two weeks’ cash for a month of expenses.

 “Got us somethin’, Sammy.”

 Sam’s not really sure where he gets them.  There’s an adult bookstore two towns over, the kind of place that Sam can’t imagine sells a whole lot of books.  Sam’s never been quite bold enough to venture in.  Dean would take him if he asked but Sam hoards his favors when it comes to his brother.  Sam shifts on the couch, running his hand over what may have been corduroy a half-dozen presidents ago.

 “What’d you get?”

 Dean likes dicks.

 Lots of them, thick-veined and strangled-purple, forced two abreast into plump lips on both ends.  Double stuffed housewives and gangbanged cheerleaders, everything stretched taut until Sam can smell the jizz in the room.  Men that sweat and fight for pride of place, sunk good into slicked pink and turned out scarlet.  Sam can map a universe of reds in the things that make Dean lick his lips.

He’d had a physics teacher two towns back, the kind the girls blushed at and the boys called “Mr. K” before they gave him fist pounds.  Physics is just math with a better story and it had always been one of Sam’s favorite subjects.  Somewhere in between p=mv and an afterclass musing about the theory of relativity Mr. K had explained eternal chaotic inflation and the multiverse theory and something in Sam’s heart had skipped.

There are infinite universes, each one overlapping and changed by one minute event and surely somewhere, nestled deep inside one of these other lives, a different one of John Winchester’s good little soldiers had crossed the finish line first and Sam was born she. She'd still be Sam, even.  
  
Just. Not quite.  
  
Sam likes girl bodies, their softness and heavy quiet, chameleon eyes they can paint pretty and wipe away to start again just like that. Sam's stuck with one face.  
  
Sam likes what he's seen of them, likes the nudie stolen glimpses under rucked up tank tops and tuck-waisted gym shorts better than the professionally naked porn stars Dean has reared him on.  Those women are terrifyingly beautiful, medusa statues with immovable mascara and manicured shrubbery topping off pink parts fucked lipstick red.  
  
Dean would probably laugh if he wore lipstick.  
  
Dean’s good with girls, good enough for three people and it's his kind heart that pushes Sam towards tight lipped little sisters and politely disappointed best friends. Dean makes out with the prettier ones but he fucks Sam after, always always, pressed in tight until Sam could eat his heartbeat.  
  
_Come inside me, come inside me._  
  
There's towns with no girls, no schools, nothing but corn and evil shit.  Towns that Sam hates and loves at the same time, towns where Dean can’t flirt with anyone but him and Dad drinks himself to sleep. 

 Dean’s latest job in Pittsfield has him bussing tables.  He comes home smelling like soap and milkshakes, too-clean hands for the boy who slips them into Sam’s mouth when Dad’s in the john. 

 “Think you’ll like this one, Sammy.”

 Sam’ll like anything.  He’s been home since 2:50 and he licked the taste of Dean’s morning kiss off his lips hours ago.  Watching Wheel of Fortune next to Dean would be a paradise.

 Sam misses him too much sometimes.

 Dean’s diner job means he brings home food, too.  Smells like pancakes, or maybe French toast.  Something with bacon.  Breakfast for dinner would be something whimsical to a family who ate their meals at the same table every night, but Sam’s just happy Dean won’t be hungry.  Nestled next to the Styrofoam boxes is a smaller one, the slice of pie no waitress on earth could deny Dean.

 Sam doesn’t like sweets that much. 

 Sam turns from his forgotten homework, math problems he could do in his sleep spread out over the couch.  In his mind it’s seductive, the arch of his neck from Dean’s old Maiden shirt, the way his fingers trail over their borrowed couch, the play-bored of his voice.  It’s not the desperate _missed-you-all-day_ that clutches its fingers around Sam’s insides and squeezes when Dean raises his eyebrow and slips a video tape out of its anonymous paper bag.  A red mouth pouts at him.

 Three towns back they’d had two blessed weeks without Dad.  Dean didn’t come home smelling like milkshakes with his pick-up work at the local factory but he smelled like honest sweat and he always came home hungry.  Sam had cooked what he could, mac and cheese mostly, and Dean had walked in one night and slipped up behind him, humming contentment and setting every hair on Sam’s body on end.

 “Like you waitin’ at home for me like my little wifey.”

 Sam had pretty much creamed his pants.

 “Special for you, Sammy.”

 Dean holds the tape in his hands like Vanna White, displaying some sapphic treasure that makes Sam blush.  There’s blondes and tits and nothing Sam hasn’t seen before.  Dean likes it when he blushes.

 “Guy at the store told me it’s popular with the ladies.”

 Dean finally, finally walks over to the couch, bending down to meet Sam’s lips.  The tape could have anything on it and Sam wouldn’t care.  Nothing can eclipse this second, this welcome home kiss he can give Dean.  He gets horny like any kid, body straining and rebelling against him at every turn.  He wants Dean to suck his cock, stroke him and fuck him and wring him inside out, sure, but this is what fucks Sam up.  This is the wifey kiss and it’s more precious than any porno his classmates would kill to see.

 Sam wants the sweetheart stuff.  
  
Sam gets fingers up his ass and facials and rusty trombones and a million other things fourteen year old boys shouldn't know about, but what gets his hips grinding into the sheets and his cock drooling over his knuckles is the way Dean calls him _darlin'_ after he plants a kiss next to Sam's tongue fucked asshole.

 “Watch and learn, Sammy.”

 They call rooms like this a “convenience,” Sam’s never really understood why.  There are conveniently no walls to separate their bed from the TV.  Dean can conveniently tease Sam about being a virgin, which Sam always balks at inside but it makes Dean touch him soft as he tugs off Sam’s borrowed shirt.  It’s convenient when Dean strips military-fast out his clothes.  Sam watches his balls jostle between his legs as he turns the VCR on and feeds it porn, shameless and sweet.

  _Sorority Sluts IV: Pussy Eating Pledges_ flickers onto the screen.  Dean grins, his smile radiant enough to pull Sam’s eyes off his dick for a second.

 “Told you I’d get you something girly.”

There’s a list of comments that Sam will never live down, things Dean has wheedled and kissed out of him when it’s dark out and there’s no one in the world but the two of them.  That his favorite kind of porn is sweet-looking girls going down on each other is probably smack in the middle of that list.

Sam still keeps plenty of secrets to himself.

Dean's got hot hands. They cup up around his hips, fingers treading along the swell of his ass.  He drags his lips along the soft crease, kissing and nosing in, breath searing hot against Sam's skin. Maybe Sam's just cold all the time. 

There's this look girls get after Dean's had them. Desperate, wide-eyed looks that follow Dean down hallways and across acres of asphalt. Changed. Dean changes them. 

The first hint of Dean's tongue sends a riot of goosebumps over his skin. Girls must lose their minds. Sam can swear he feels each bare inch of Dean’s tongue working in, greedy to fuck him and strong enough to make him ache.  Sam can feel all of it, even if he knows it’ll never compare to what a girl feels.  What _he_ would feel, in some nearby faraway world, where she’s wearing stolen makeup and sobbing into their bed when Dean does this to her.

  
"Gotta teach you how to eat some pussy, Sammy."  
  
And this is nothing like that, Sam knows, but he can pretend. Arch his back and grind into Dean's face like his clit's grazing Dean's nose instead of dripping into the sheets. Mumble back at Dean's big brother pointers, _gotta go slow, tease 'em a lot, they love it, Sammy_ , like Sam cares about all the not-brother girls Dean's ruined for other boys. Keeps his eyes on the soft moan girls Dean's bought for him, kitten tongues and slick lips and all the glistening things he'll never give Dean.  
  
"Get your fingers in her when she's good and wet, like this."  
  
Sam, girl Sam, sister Sam would be wet all the time for Dean.  She'd taste like peaches and tug Dean's hair a little when she comes, sit on his face and scream his name and all the other things Dean loves.  
  
Dean's thumbs slip into him, two at once because Sam's still a brother boy and Dean's still Dean.  
  
"Yeah," Sam huffs, a coarser echo of the time-honored _yeahyeahyeah_ the sorority sisters moan over and over. It's all fake but it looks so good, pink-pretty like he'll never be, heaving handful tits and artfully spread legs.  
  
Sam snakes himself into some knock-kneed approximation, sneaks a hand up under his chest and cups at his nothing tits. Dean always says he's pretty like a girl down there and maybe Sam the girl, Sam that couldn't ever be, she has great tits, the kind Dean would worship and bury his troubles in. Sam pinches his nipple and spreads his legs.  
  
"Fuckin' good, Sammy," and it doesn't matter  what Dean means, Sam can pretend, be a good girl for a few seconds as his cock slip-fucks against the sheets. He reaches back, pulling himself open, spreads his fingers like he's veeing open something Dean could love forever.  
  
"Dean, gonna," like Dean doesn't know, like his big hand doesn't dig possessively into Sam's ass. His tongue buries big brother deep and it only takes the barest choke of Sam's hand until he's gushing onto the sheets.  
  
He can hear Dean jerking off, the easy _thwick_ of his hand and this is Dean's magic, that dead-sure focus that makes his own pleasure an afterthought. Sam always comes first, and second and third more often than not.  This is what ruins them.  
  
"Come inside me."  
  
Sam holds himself easy-open, porn star spread and wet for Dean. The bed creaks and Dean curses and the head of his cock slips in like he'd never know Sam wasn't built for this.  
  
"Do it, Dean, need it."  
  
Girl Sam wouldn't make him wear a condom. They're Dean's biggest gripe about the girl-girls, the ones with angry fathers and trailer park fertility. Sam's daddy has a shotgun, too, but Dean's not afraid to load him up.  
  
"Spoiled me, Sammy, so much better fuckin' you raw."  
  
She'd spoil him all the time.  
  
Dean gives him shit for his taste in porn and sure, Sam likes the soft girls more than Dean's hard-edged pros, likes the way they smile and laugh and touch each other gently.   Likes all the sweetness he has to trick out of his brother, the small brush of a hand, a knee knocked under a table, the necklace Dean never takes off. It's not images of pretty girls taking turns with each other that drives him into the back stall, half a day at school too long to go without thinking about it.  
  
It's Dean, hands bruising into Sam's soft hips, thumb brushing over Sam's painted pink lips, big hand making Sam's pretty tits stand up. Dean buried hilt-deep in some other Sam's wet pussy, warm and welcome as he kisses it into her neck.  
  
_"Knock you up good, baby girl."_

Dean says Sam’s name when he comes.  Sam’s heart snaps open and snatches it back, burying this small treasure somewhere safe from sorority girls and well-meaning waitresses.  He tilts himself up while Dean’s still inside him, arching his back to get Dean deeper.

 Sam wants every drop of Dean.

 “Jesus.”

 Dean’s breath is shaky as he collapses down on the bed.  It creaks, displeased at the weight of two sweaty boys crammed onto its twin frame.  Sam turns his back to Dean, scooting back to be the little spoon and tuck Dean’s arm over his side.  Dean’s hand flattens over his stomach, big and warm over all the empty space inside Sam.

 “You’re gonna make some girl real happy, Sammy.”


End file.
